Page 3 of Crossed Lines

“I’ll wait for you in the lobby,” I call over my shoulder.

By the time we reach the locker room located on the far end of the facility, I’ve resolutely put the incident out of my mind. It was a dumb prank, not a real suggestion. He wasn’t being serious.

But I can’t help sneaking glances at Spencer during our mobility stretches, then after when we grab some protein bars and catch up with the rest of the team.

I’m pretty sure he’s sneaking looks at me, too. Long, appraising looks like I’m a puzzle he can’t figure out. My skin prickles in a way that has nothing to do with the rush of adrenaline I usually get on training days. This feels like electricity running through my veins and pooling in my gut like lava.

The last thing I see before running out onto the pitch is the sharp cut of Spencer’s jaw flexing.

Something in his eyes tells me this conversation is far from over.

2

Spencer

My lungs burn as I cut through the water, pumping my arms in long, measured strokes. Right side, then left, breathing through the ache in my muscles. With every lap, the image of Luke in those little shorts flashes in my mind.

Fuck, this isn’t working.

Hissing, I come to a stop at the edge of the pool, where defensive midfielder Junseo Lee stands with a small black stopwatch. My breaths come out shallow and ragged, but it’s a welcome distraction from the tight frustration I’ve been trying to get rid of for months.

Most of the time, swimming helps calm me down. Not today, thanks to Luke fucking Howard.

Junseo crouches down on the wet tiles, giving me an approving nod. “Looking good out there. PB went down this session.”

“It felt good.” I run a hand over my damp buzzcut. “Could probably do another few laps.”

Like most of my teammates, I’ve known Junseo since we both joined the Harper Harriers on the same soccer scholarship in freshman year. Luke is the one who usually times my laps, but these days my body doesn’t cooperate when I’m near him.

Just thinking about his sweet doe eyes and the dark freckles covering his brown skin makes my dick twitch.

Junseo claps me on the back, cutting through my thoughts, and reminds me to bring some alcohol for tomorrow. It’s his birthday, and Coach is allowing us one party, as long as we don’t go overboard.

If I’m being honest, maybe it’s what I need. A night free of overthinking and letting loose with my team by my side, drinking Luke Howard out of my system.

Seconds later, the smile on Junseo’s lips dies away, and he clears his throat.

“Don’t hate me for saying this, but are you doing okay, dude?”

I blink at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You tell me. Coach was worried when you blew up on the field today. We all were.”

Oh, that. Gripping the tiles, I lift myself out of the water and sit on the pool’s edge, ignoring the sudden chill. “The substitute had it coming. It’s his fault he went for Luke’s leg instead of the fucking ball.”

Coach Davis thinks friendlies against the subs are great practice, which is fine by me. Playing with Luke feels almost as good as sex.

He’s the perfect attacking mid to my center forward, anticipating my moves before I make them and communicating tactics almost telepathically. Our on-pitch chemistry is out of this world and both the media and the fans call us the Dream Team—it’s one of the reasons Coach puts up with our bullshit. We’re just that good.

Hall and Howard come as a pair, do not separate.

Some idiot sub almost smashed that dream into pieces when he accidentally kicked Luke’s shin, almost taking a strip of skin with it. When Luke crashed to the ground, I wanted to grab that scrawny fucker by the neck and shake him down. Luke’s hardenough on himself without adding the threat of injury on top of it all.

“I get that,” Junseo says, frowning. “But you’ve got offers rolling in for pro teams next year. Gotta keep the record clean.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Irritation sweeps through me like a flame. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“It’s okay that you’re obsessed with Luke but—”

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